Chapter 3
THREE
Six years, ten weeks, and three days later―A Tuesday in May
Five-thirty in the morning was the best time of the day to hit the home gym, and, just like Darcy, most of his clients were up and running already.
It was the best time to make deals, throw down some gauntlets, and start the day out of the gate after a sleepless night of anticipatory nerves for the biggest real estate closing of his life in four hours with Beanz, aka: the fiancée.
On hold with a potential investment client, he jogged on a treadmill, watching the sun’s slow ascent at the horizon beyond the floor-to-ceiling window.
Admiring how the orange glow backdropped the city below, he patiently waited to resume the call.
Sweat dripped from his forehead onto his wireless earbud, but he continued swinging his arms and climbing.
Lost in his musings, he was in no mood to be jerked around.
Since the commencement of The Marriage Pact six weeks ago, niggling doubts surfaced at the most inopportune times.
This morning was one of those times when he tried to ignore the seemingly minuscule reservations, Charlie’s long-held position on the matter, and the ghostly needling of his late mother.
Furrowing his brow, he picked up the pace, vowing to overcome his doubts with his signature willDarcypower and logic.
After years of staunch abstinence from women and booze, he had accomplished exactly what he set out to do much earlier than planned: his combined total assets had reached billionaire status, and he was to be married in a loveless arrangement constructed by him and negotiated by Beanz.
More shocking than those two things was that his fiancée had matured by steering her life away from loser hangers-on and getting her shit together.
He was proud of her and how she had made a name for herself as a mover and shaker in the interior design business after he financed her start-up in Lenox Hill.
Second to her love of fashion, she found her niche in telling high society’s super elites how to window dress their oversized, overpriced status symbols, and that included him.
Surprisingly, she had a good business and design sense and kept her nose clean, figuratively and literally.
He felt confident that she’d make an acceptable partner and would keep to her end of the agreement, especially since she burned through more guys than he could count over the last six years.
Still, it won’t be long until saying “I do,” sharing his money and having sex with the, now blonde, girl he’d known since he was twelve, both nerve-rattling and disconcerting prospects, indeed.
The client came back with a counteroffer explaining the expected hesitancy from some of the board members over Pemberley’s terms.
With barely a pant, he stated into the air.
“Look, I get it. See it from our perspective. I’m willing to take a chance on you, but you guys have to give me some skin in the game.
Pemberley will invest four hundred million for fifty-percent ownership of Sonic Defense, and I’ll also get a board seat and veto rights on any major decisions—a true partnership.
If you don’t agree to the terms, I’ll walk away and fund your competitor.
I have no doubt that the capital will catapult them into astronomical shareholder gains once it secures the government contracts you covet, then Sonic will begin its descent into the trash bin of failed companies. ”
He waited for the client’s reply, slightly amused by the prevarication then the expected umbrage at the slight, and then it came: a laughable second proposition.
He raised the incline and speed on the treadmill, unmovable in his negotiation.
“That’s a valiant stance, but I’ll give it to you in the simplest language.
You want my money and the defense contracts, then you pay my price.
We’re firm in our offer. Four megabucks for a fifty percent stake, a board seat, and veto power.
Take it or leave it. I have other options for my money. ” He waited, puffing in exertion.
“Sure. I’ll give you until Tuesday next week after your board meeting. After that, Pemberley moves on.”
Tapping his earbud, he cut the call, continuing to power the incline for another four minutes before cool down.
Another call came in.
“Good morning, my sweet fiancée,” he teased. “You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep, and what are you doing up at this ungodly hour?”
“I’m always up at five. I had a business call, so I hit the treadmill.”
“You are aware of what today is, right? You didn’t schedule a breakfast meeting, did you?” Beanz asked.
“No. I’ll be there promptly at eight thirty. My assistant reminded me a half-dozen times already. Just make sure the agent has a triple espresso waiting.”
“William, she’s not our personal barista.”
“I don’t give a crap. We’re closing on a twenty-seven-million-dollar townhouse in Metropolitan Hill and she’s making a negotiated two percent buyer fee on it. You do the math.”
“Still, I think it’s totally inappropriate to ask my friend to make you coffee. We should be thanking her and buying her a coffee. She did, after all, rush the closing,” she said.
“She should be grateful for the Darcy business. The least she could do is make me a damn four-hundred-and-twenty-thousand-dollar cup of coffee in appreciation for a building I sought and negotiated from one of my clients. How is that too much to ask?”
“That may be how the Darcy family does things but not mine. Have one of your goons get you a coffee.”
“That’s not the job of my bodyguards.”
Beanz huffed.
“Fine. I’ll pick up a Starfish,” he finally acquiesced.
“Will you pick me up one, too?”
“Whatever you want, dear,” he joked. “Oh! And don’t forget to call the restaurant regarding the change to the menu for the rehearsal dinner.”
Beanz sighed. “Why can’t your assistant do that? I have enough on my plate as it is.”
“Because I keep Amanda busy with Pemberley Capital business, that’s why. Please re-read page sixty of the agreement. It’s your job to handle the wedding details—my job to pay for it.”
“Yes, you’re right, honey bunny. It’s my job.”
He grunted. “Very funny, but if you call me honey bunny at the closing, I’ll publicly refer to you as Beanz, then tap out of this whole thing.”
“There is nothing in the contract that addresses nicknames.”
“I know it’s not in the contract but neither does it grant carte blanche to call each other juvenile pet names.
I gotta go. I’ll see you shortly.” He clicked off, then removed the earbuds, shoving them into his pocket.
This wedding shit was getting under his skin.
Only a couple of months left and the hard part would be over.
Now, if he could only convince her she had to dial back the cringy PDA.
Even his sister raised an eyebrow a few times at the engagement party despite believing the whole “we fell in love over time, meant to be together from childhood” bullshit they fed family and friends.
Still, he needed to be nicer to her for her stalwart friendship through some of the rough patches over the last few years.
He’d work on his disposition after the closing, maybe take her for lunch at her favorite Thai restaurant even though he didn’t care for Thai.
Escorting her to Bergdorf before her sister’s upcoming wedding to buy her a new wardrobe was a sure-fire way to make up for his ill temper.
She’d gush over that given her new attitude and new boobs (compliments of him.) She was a high-maintenance socialite now and playing her part in the scheme.
Slowing his gait, he wiped his forehead and admired the rising sun.
It was going to be an exceptional day, he buoyed.
He was super-stoked about the five-bedroom townhouse only a half block from Central Park, which he got for a steal.
In fact, he looked forward to the execution of her fabulous décor ideas to enhance the classic, historical architecture.
Five stories on 78th Street and Fifth Avenue were worth the twenty-seven million he spent. Darcy smiled with pride—and admiration—of his future home. He’d worked damned hard these last six years, and this was, thus far, his greatest achievement to show for it.
“What do you think?” he asked, gaze still focused on the sugar maples below.
“It’s not Billionaire’s Row nor is it actually on Fifth Avenue, but I think I’ll be happy here,” Beanz said. “I know you don’t like to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway. Your parents would be really proud of you.”
Having buried his mother five years ago and his father twenty months ago after a massive heart attack in the middle of a heated client meeting, he slightly bristled.
Would his father be more impressed by the relationships he, on behalf of Pemberley Capital, singlehandedly fomented or for his son’s personal achievements as a result of steadfast hard work?
He’ll never know the answer to that. Nevertheless, he knew Beanz sincerely meant good by saying his parents would be proud.
“Thank you. I know my mother would have thought it too extravagant. She enjoyed the simpler things in life. Give her the house in Vermont or a beachside cottage over city life any day.”
“Simple is boring. You’re a big-time player now. Living in a measly chalet in the mountains or a tiny cottage is so not good for your image—or mine. If you want beach, we’ll just buy a ten-thousand square foot in Sagaponack.”
“She hated the Hamptons,” he replied.
“Well, I adore the Hamptons.”
Coming to stand beside him, she looked out the window. A satisfied smile spread on her lips. “I’m glad I didn’t fall for the next or last parasite who came along.”
“A parasite I am not.”
“Nor will you ever be, Mr. Darcy. Besides, you’re my best friend. After all these years, I can honestly say, this feels sorta right without the romance.”